THE UNPROTECTED FEMALE IN WANT OF A CAB.
Scene.—The Great Western Railway Station on the morning of Wednesday, July 27th. A Train has just arrived, bringing, inter alios et alias, The Unprotected Female, with her usual moderate but miscellaneous accumulation of luggage, consisting of a hair-trunk profusely brass-lettered, and without the slightest lifting appliance in the way of handles; a cubical black box, with a convex top, very apt to give way (like its mistress) on slight provocation, and trusting much for support to a net-work of curiously knotted cordage; an oblong contrivance of wicker-work and oilskin, like a chicken-basket in a tarpaulin overcoat; a flower-pot, with a balsam in full blow; a basket, much too small for its work; four distinct parcels, of respectable dimensions and irregular form, two in brown paper, one in a newspaper, and the fourth securely sewed up in huckaback; a large stone bottle of real mushroom ketchup; a pair of strong shoes, which having obstinately refused to enter the hair-trunk, have been brought up by hand; an aged, but still expansive, carpet-bag, bursting with its contents; a bonnet-box and an umbrella, with a parasol and a camp-stool. As the Scene opens, The Unprotected is discovered in the act of reclaiming and gathering about her, with her usual distractedness, these her goods and chattels, as they are landed from the Luggage-Van, in the midst of a crowd of all ages, sexes, and conditions, occupied in the same way. The Porters have an embarrassed air, and not a Cab is to be seen on the Stand. Sharp-witted Passengers, who have rushed off to secure "first Cab," stand bewildered on the edge of the Platform. Ladies are huddled helplessly together, ruefully surveying their baggage. Indignant individuals are asking questions; and the possession of every inch of room in two fortunate Omnibuses is being fiercely contested, with very little regard to the route about to be taken by these vehicles.
Indignant Gentleman (who has a habit of constituting himself the stern representative of Public Opinion). No Cabs! Halloa!—Stationmaster—Guard—Hi—you Sir—Here; what's the meaning of this?
Station Officer (respectfully, but sadly). Cabs struck, Sir, I'm sorry to say.
Hopeless Lady (who has a happy faculty of seeing the worst at a glance). Oh! I was sure something dreadful would happen.
Indignant Gentleman. Cabs struck? What the devil! eh—d'ye mean to tell me—struck!
Officer. Not a Cab to be had all over London!
Indignant Gentleman (whom the unhappy passengers have already begun to look up to, so imposing is his manner). Here's a pretty state of things—the blackguards! But they're punishable. They're bound to ply for hire—it's illegal.
Officer. Can't say, Sir. But they've done it, any way.
[Indignant Gentleman delivers a withering Philippic against the Executive in general, and Mr. Fitzroy in particular, which is respectfully received by the Passengers, but does not excite much attention from the Railway Officials, whom he threatens violently with damages to a large amount. The Unprotected Female, who has heard the preceding dialogue, seems stupefied. She has not uttered even a cry or an exclamation, but sits helpless and hopeless, amidst a barricade of her luggage.
Practical Man (who has hitherto said nothing, but heard everything,—to a Porter.) Can I get a man to carry my luggage?
1st Porter. We'll carry on it all outside the Station, Sir; there's men there—
2nd Porter (shouldering a mountain of Portmanteaus). And wehicles—
3rd Porter (upheaving a similar load, and half to himself). Sich as they is.
[The Porters have by this time arrived at the luggage of The Unprotected, who still sits as if crushed by the blow.
Cheery Porter. Now, Marm; jest sit up off the trunk, will ye—
The Unprotected (suddenly awaking to a sense of her desolation). Oh!—where?
Cheery Porter. Anyvheres, ma'am; only let me ketch a hold. Now, Jem.
[Her luggage is appropriated by the united efforts of two Porters, who are bearing it off.
Unprotected Female (vaguely following and clutching at the load.) Oh!—but where to? You never can—it's to 38, Great Coram Street—and there's bottles in the bag,—by the name of Jones. Oh—please—couldn't you—
Cheery Porter. All right, 'M. You'll p'raps get a trap outside. This way, Ma'am—it's all right.
Scene changes to exterior of Station. Here the full extent of the Metropolitan calamity is apparent. Amidst the stranded packages of the day's arrivals, are seen heaped together the exhausted Passengers sitting, lying, or standing about, among, and upon them, like shipwrecked sailors amidst the débris of a lee-shore. Crowds of Cabmen, in various stages of intoxication, are gathered together, triumphing in the desolation they have made. A miscellaneous collection of vehicles of all descriptions is vainly endeavouring to supply the place of Cabs, and an impression is being slowly made on the piles of luggage. The Conveyances include most things on wheels—from a costermonger's truck with the smallest of donkeys, to a battered old Sheriff's carriage drawn by two large cart-horses. Chaff abounds, as might be expected.
Cabman in Box Coat (To Indignant Gentleman, who with much dignity has just deposited his luggage in a costermonger's cart, after reiterated threats of legal vengeance on the Company.) Ollo! Guv'nor—ow's greens?
[Indignant Gent retorts by a withering look, but wisely abstains from a reply.
Cabman (in fustian jacket and ditto). Here's your hout-an-hout accommodation—Sixpence a mile—ho!
Cabman in velveteen (pointing to a wheelbarrow, to which is consigned the luggage of a despairing mother, including three babies). Hall alive, oh! alive, oh! Pen—ny—win—kles—hall alive, oh!
Cabman (in dress coat, with straw-band to his hat). Wot'll you take for the babbies, Marm?
Waterman (in clogs and maudlin). Ax Muster Fitzroy to step up, some on yer, and look at this 'ere.
Chorus of Cabmen (with prolonged howl of execration). Y—a—a—h!
Satirical Cabman (to Aristocratic Old Gentleman, who has just ascended a small, but highly unctuous butcher's cart, in a state of concentrated bitterness). Heasy over the stones with that 'ere cat's-meat, Butcher.
Aristocratic Old Gentleman (starting up in the cart). What's that you say, you blackguard?
Chorus of Cabmen. Cat's-meat—cat's-meat!
[The Aristocratic Old Gentleman retires from the unequal contest, and allows his pride to fall with his fortunes.
Driver of Butcher's Cart. Where to, Sir?
Aristocratic Old Gentleman. 115, Eaton Square. No—stop at 110.
Satiric Cabman. Mind you ring the hairy bell, old feller—Cat's-meat!
Bitter Cabman. And mind yer, if he stops to call at the Pallis, it's sixpence for hevery kervarter you waits—Butcher.
Chorus of Cabmen (saluting the departure of the butcher's cart). Ya—a—ah! Cow Cross—Sharpe's Alley! Ya—ah!
[At this moment appears the Luggage of The Unprotected, followed by her disconsolate self. She is hailed by the Cabmen.
1st Cabman. Ollo—Marm—you've forgotten your pattings.
2nd Cabman. And there ain't no Cabs—'acos we're a takin' it hairystercratic, we are!
Cheery Porter (tumbling down the luggage). Now—Ma'am—if you look sharp—you'll soon get a carriage—I dessay.
Unprotected Female. Oh, but couldn't you help me—if you please!
1st Cabman (delighted with her distress). Here's furnitur! First floor to let with the sticks! What d'ye ask a week, Marm—for the use of the flower-pot?
Unprotected Female. Oh—how can you—man? Oh—will somebody call something. It's 38, Great Coram Street, by the name of Jones—and I'll pay anything!
Bitter Cabman. Oh, no—you mustn't go out o' the Hact! Sixpence a mile and no back fare—that's the ticket!
3rd Cabman. Wans kept—and goods carefully removed!
Treacherous Cabman (in a tone of pretended sympathy). There you are, Marm!
Unprotected Female. Oh—thank you—where?
Treacherous Cabman (calling a water-cart which is laying the dust). Here, Force-pump—lady to take hup!
Satiric Cabman. And a reasonable quantity of luggage—wide the hact!
Unprotected Female (simply). Oh—but I can't ride in a water-cart!
Satiric Cabman. Thort you might like it this 'ot weather, Marm.
Polite Cabman. So werry refreshin'—and you looks 'eated, Marm.
Unprotected Female. Oh—if you wouldn't—
Polite Cabman. Could I hoffer hany refreshment, Marm.
Treacherous Cabman. A little 'ot heel-soup, Marm—or a penn'orth o' winkles!
Unprotected Female. Oh—if it was only a wheelbarrow!
[The Unprotected sinks in despair upon the pile. The Cabmen surround her in fierce exultation. Crowds of wrecked passengers and piles of luggage slowly accumulate around her, and gradually conceal her from the eye. A feeble plaint is occasionally heard to ascend from the recesses of the heap. Scene closes.
A Coup de Soleil. The most remarkable illustration of "high Art," is presented by the Sun in his character of a Photographist; and indeed he may be regarded as par excellence the rising artist of the day.
WANTED (during the Cab-strike), A ROOMY WHEELBARROW, capable of accommodating a Member of Parliament on the rising of the House Address, Colonel Sibthorp. No Free-Trader need apply.